Trapped
by EchoRose480
Summary: There was nothing but darkness. Merlin could see nothing. Could hear nothing of the screams of his friends, calling his name, pounding the cold, hard stone surrounding him, shutting him off from the light. Little does he know, they can. They can hear everything. (Rated T as a safety blanket for very mild language.)
1. Prologue

A/N: Yay! Now that My Demons Lay In Wait is all done, I can start on this story. :D So excited for this one. Hope you guys like it!

...

Something was different this time.

Merlin yelped as he narrowly dodged a falling axe, and then, with a discreet flash of gold, lent strength to his arm as he brought his sword down in a smooth arc. The pommel collided with his attacker's skull, and the man fell face forward into the dirt. Merlin allowed himself a small smile of triumph, before whipping around and rejoining the battle.

Merlin paused for just a moment directly outside the perimeter of the warring, and scanned his eyes through the chaos frantically. His eyes locked upon each of the smaller battles within the entirety of the fray, in turn. Gwaine was fighting a man twice his size who was wielding a vicious looking mace. Leon was back to back with Percival, fending off several different men coming at them from all angles. Elyan and Gwaine were fighting alongside Arthur, working together in subduing the large numbers of bandits surrounding. Merlin felt an inexplicable rush of relief at the sight of the king, and then again when he saw Gwen and Gaius were nowhere in sight, off hiding somewhere, hopefully in safety.

The group of twenty and five or so bandits had come out of nowhere. This wasn't an unnatural occurrence in and of itself. In fact, this had happened so often, that leaping into action against them had been a calm and rehearsed thing overall.

But there was just something different.

Merlin was pulled from his rapid fire thoughts as a sudden battle cry sounded from his left. He turned just in time to parry a jarring blow from a bandit's large sword. The man cried out and lifted the sword again, dropping it down in what should have been a fatal blow. But somehow, miraculously, Merlin's clumsy, ill-timed block was enough to knock him backward, for it had been fueled by his magic, and gave the warlock enough time to slash him across the leg, debilitating the man, who he cried out, clutching at the deep, bleeding wound and collapsed to the forest floor.

And with a quizzical glance at his weapon, Merlin's went back to fighting.

But he was distracted. There was something strange in the air. Something powerful. Merlin could feel the unmistakable presence of magic nearby, and he was so busy whirling around in search of the source, and in an ongoing attempt to keep an eye on Arthur (for unfamiliar magic nearby could mean nothing good for the king) that he didn't properly defend himself against one opponent, and ended up with a slight, shallow slash across his bicep. He yelped at the pain and then retaliated with a stab of his own, a nonfatal one in the man's thigh that sent him sprawling backwards with a cry.

All the while, amidst the pandemonium, the terrible feeling that something dark, something _dangerous_ was far, far too close began to grow and grow until Merlin was consumed with a desire to escape, to get his friends out of there.

Filled with a sudden, instinctual panic and _need_ to get out of there, Merlin yelled and turned around to find the still fighting form of his prince. However, at the sudden, static charge of what he knew was magic began tickling the nape of his neck, he screamed in warning,

"Arthur!"

The prince finished off the man he'd been fighting, and then spun around at the sound of his name, a look of alarm on his face quickly fading into annoyance as he saw his manservant standing, unharmed, at the edge of the battle.

Merlin took one step forward, opened his mouth to speak, when suddenly…

There was nothing.

...

A/N: Please **Review **and tell me if I have ensnared your interest. :D Toodles!


	2. Not Good

A/N: Yay! I got the new chapter up so quickly. :D I'm so proud. Sorry, guys, I know I'm slow to update with my stories, but you're really awesome for dealing with it. :) I'm so excited for this story! *Squeal* Okay, onward!

...

The Valley of the Fallen Kings was never a good idea.

Arthur knew this. Despite the popular opinion of his knights, influenced greatly by Merlin, he did not enter the perilous valley because of some innate death wish or lack of common sense. Nor, was he blind to its dangers. Arthur wasn't a superstitious man, but he had seen enough bad luck come to pass when he was in the valley, that he was forced to concede with his manservant: the Valley of the Fall Kings was definitely not a place abounding in safety and warmth. Arthur would even go so far to say that it _was _cursed (in the most unmagical sense of the word, of course).

He was, in fact, always very averted to the thought of having to pass through without ample cause. And, whenever he did, it was because he felt he had no choice. Such as, the case currently. He was the king, and it was the king's duty to investigate any and all situations, or reports, that left his people feeling unsafe or distressed. He had only entered the valley, this time, because of several reports of bandit attacks that had reached the kingdom throughout the week. Arthur had sent out some men to take care of it, but they had returned with no sightings of bandits.

The reports had continued, though, so Arthur had been forced to deal with the matter personally.

Merlin had, of course, advised him against it. Gwen, inevitably, as well. However, Arthur hadn't been swayed. Not only had he felt obligated, as was required for him to come anywhere near the valley, but he had also felt, somehow, oddly certain that they would all come back safe. Arthur wasn't irrational, nor was he foolish enough to believe that either here or his men, or both, were invincible.

However, there was a strange, inexplicable sort of comfort that came along with having survived through so many different dangers, despite the overwhelming odds against you. Arthur had always been wary to enter the valley, but he'd always come back safe, and he'd never come back regretting having gone.

But he regretted now. Regret was severely prominent alongside the tumult of emotions that ran through at the sight of his manservant disappearing in an explosion of black smoke.

One minute Merlin had been standing there, and the next, in his place was a swirling cloud of sulfur and a fading shower of orange sparks.

A cry tore from Arthur's throat, punctuated by the gut rending fear accosting him at the remembrance of a moment several years ago, where he had lost his manservant in the midst of a battle before. He started forward, determined to find Merlin _unharmed _in the midst of the thick wall of smoke still blocking his friend from sight.

The explosion had been isolated, only spreading in around a five foot parameter from where Merlin had been standing (was_ still _standing), but the sound had been loud enough that the battle had been halted for just a moment in surprise.

But they recovered fast enough that Arthur was unable to reach his destination, intercepted by one of the bandits. The man lunged at him with a roar, and Arthur expertly blocked his clumsy but powerful attack. The both stumbled backwards some, and then reengaged Arthur obviously the more experienced fighter. The conflict only lasted what must have been ten seconds, before Arthur dispatched his opponent with a thrust through the man's gut.

He whirled around and sprinted towards the smoke. The battle was quieting down around him, the bandits either unconscious or dead all around, but Arthur hardly noticed. His vision was funneled towards the spot where Merlin had been standing, where the cloud was starting to lift. He ran into the fog, frantically searching for his wayward servant.

"Merli-!" Arthur was cut off, the air knocked from him as he suddenly collided with a hard surface, and fell backwards into the dirt.

There was a moment of suspension in time, where Arthur wasn't aware of the fact that he was openly gaping. He wasn't sure whether to be surprised, relieved, frustrated, or shocked. Yes, definitely shocked. But there wasn't really an emotion he could pin down exactly, because he'd entered a state of numbness, his mind trying and failing to process what was in front of him.

There, smack dab in front of him, stood some strange, marble pillar. Well, it might have been marble, except the surface could just as well have been oil, judging by how smooth it was. Smooth, and pitch black, a rectangular _box_ that couldn't have been more than six feet tall and four feet wide on each side.

For one insane, split second, Arthur was afraid that Merlin was _under _it, smashed.

But he quickly shook the asinine thoughts from his head, and scrambled to his feet. Feeling somewhat ridiculous, he angled his sword towards the ground, and began circling the strange object. It was perfectly seamless, the darkest black Arthur had ever seen. No crevice, scratch or cranny could be seen. Once he'd circled the pillar, Arthur gently tapped the tip of his sword against one of the edges, and then reached forward slowly, hesitating for a split second, before resting his hand against the cool, smooth surface,

"M-Merlin?"

"_Hello?_"

Arthur yelped in surprise at the unexpected answer and lost his footing, falling backwards again onto his rear.

"Merlin?" he repeated.

"_Hello? Where am I? What…What is this? Arthur? Arthur!_"

And then a cold dread washed over Arthur, solidifying into a hard lump in his gut.

Merlin was _inside_ the box.

Oh…hell.

…..

At first Merlin thought he might be unconscious. One moment, he was standing amidst a battle, about to rush forth towards his king. And the next, it was as if the world around him, every light, color, sound and shape, had been vacuumed into nothing. There was only darkness, and a terrible, terrible silence.

But he couldn't be unconscious, because he was still standing. Merlin experimentally shuffled his feet and blinked, just to make sure his eyes were still open. They were.

Fighting down the panic building up inside of him, Merlin slowly rotated himself in a circle, searching for any kind of light. Nothing. He closed his eyes, and waited, waited for some sound, some sign of life. Again, nothing.

He had never been in such complete darkness, before. It was as if he had gone blind. The spots of color dancing around in his vision were starting to fade, his eyes adjusting the complete blackness, and he found himself wishing they wouldn't.

His breathing was quickening, he felt closed in. Just to assure himself that there was a space, he thrust his hand forward into the dark.

His hand slammed against a rock hard surface with an almighty slap.

His breaths now coming out in ragged gasps, Merlin had to close his mouth and breathe deeply in and out of his nose to control the fear fighting to overtake his senses, and stop his mind from working rationally.

Hand still pressed against what felt like stone, Merlin straightened his arm, and his back and head immediately slammed against another wall directly behind him. Gasping, Merlin's eyes shot wide open, but there was nothing to see. Quickly, he began feeling around in the dark, his panic growing with each new discovery.

There were four walls surrounding him on all sides, and one a few inches above his head. He tried to crouch down and feel the bottom, but there was not enough room to sit, and he just ended up slamming his tailbone against the wall behind him and his knees against the one in front.

He was in a box, a cage. No light, no sound. Cold, alone, and he had no idea how he'd gotten there.

He was trapped.

"Hello?" he called out, pressing his ear against the stone, desperately trying to pick up any sound outside. There was no answer. None that he could hear. Trying to keep his voice from wavering, and failing slightly, he tried again, "Hello? Where am I? What…" he was starting to feel lightheaded, and took a moment in catching his breath, "What is this?" there had been a battle. His friends were still fighting, he wasn't there to make sure that… "Arthur? Arthur!"

Merlin waited a few breathless moments for a response, but none came.

Cursing under his breath, Merlin kicked the stone in frustration, and began pacing. There was no room to do so, however, and so he just ended up turning in an endless circle, feeling along the walls desperately for any kind of niche or opening, some kind of trigger that would let him out. He needed to get _out_.

His search was fruitless, and he slumped against one of the walls, cursing again and running a hand through his air and then closing it into a fist, pulling at the roots, trying to stem and control the instinctive urge to panic.

And suddenly, he banged his forehead against the wall in anger,

"Idiot," he muttered to himself. Closing his eyes, he drew a deep breath and placed his right hand on the wall, "_Líhting mec_," he felt the warm rush of magic through his veins, but there was no change around him. Absolutely nothing.

He supposed he might have expected just as much. The trap he was in was obviously magic. How else would he have been here so suddenly?

He tried a few more whispered spells, but there was no result. The silence, still and unnerving as death, and the darkness, _black_ as it.

He didn't dare speak the spells louder. For all he knew, this was some convoluted plan of Morgana, or another sorcerer. And there was no way he was going to risk exposing himself. Besides, Merlin had honed his skills well enough that yelling spells was no longer required to increase their potency.

Of course, there was the chance that these walls were enchanted to pick up everything he does and says.

And then there was the slim chance that none of this had to do with magic at all. Which also meant he should be running out of air, soon.

Frustrated, he slammed his fist against the wall with a growl through his clenched teeth, which created a vibrating, metallic note that lasted but a moment. The lack of effect it had only served to feed his anger, though, and he hit it again,

"Where am I?!" he demanded of whoever had done this to him, "Who are you, why are you doing this? Show yourself!" he waited, "Let me out!"

Only silence and the faint, hollow echo of his blows playing over and over in his head, vain attempts at quelling the panic, greeted him.

He could only hope that his current frustration would last in overshadowing the panic threatening to replace it, brimming just under the surface of his conscious.

He hit the wall just one more time, and kicked it just for good measure.

Crossing his arms over his chest, Merlin rested his forehead against the wall, his heels pressed up against the one behind him, and just glared.

He really, _really_ hated tight spaces.

Stubbornness born from his own personality and several years of victories won by being so, he refused to give up, and began calling out once again.

After all, the last place he had been, his friends had been there too, hadn't they?

….

Arthur had to physically shake away the shock before he was able to stand again.

"Merlin!" he said, feeling around the edges and corners of the box, trying to find an opening, "Merlin, I'm here! Are you hurt?" nothing, "Merlin?"

There was no answer, and Arthur had to fight to keep himself from assuming the worst.

"Merlin," he began again, "Can you hear me? I'm going to get you out, okay? Merlin, are you listening?"

Arthur pressed his ear against the stone, and thought he heard some kind of quiet murmur. Then, the pillar suddenly shook as if from a blow, and Arthur stumbled back a step. Merlin was trying to get out.

Arthur could hear hard breathing from inside the box, and the sound of someone moving around. He swallowed, realizing he was hearing his manservant's attempts at finding an escape.

"Merlin," Arthur tried again, the dread he'd been feeling quickly gaining in severity, "Merlin, can you hear me?" he asked slowly, loudly, his face inches away from the stone.

Merlin didn't answer.

He couldn't hear Arthur.

"Gwaine!" Arthur called, the distress obvious in his voice beneath the commanding tone, but he didn't care. Merlin was trapped, and he didn't know that Arthur knew.

"Arthur?"

Arthur spun around to see the long haired knight trotting up to him, his gaze flitting back and forth from his king to the strange pillar next to him,

"Holy…what's that?" Gwaine asked, reaching Arthur's side. Arthur opened his mouth to answer, but was interrupted, as another bang resounded from the pillar. Merlin hitting it from the inside again, followed by the manservant's angry voice,

"_Idiot_,"

Arthur furrowed his brow as Merlin began muttering to himself indiscernibly, and then turned back to Gwaine, who was watching the box with his mouth hanging wide open,

"Is that…?" he turned to Arthur, epiphany and, consequentially, denial shining on his face. Arthur simply nodded in confirmation.

That was enough for Gwaine. He pounded his fist against the box, and yelled,

"Merlin! Merlin, mate, it's Gwaine! Can. You. Hear. Me?" he punctuated each word with a slamming fist against the stone. Arthur rolled his eyes and grabbed the knights wrist before he made his hand bleed,

"He can't hear us, Gwaine! I've tried,"

Gwaine turned to him with an annoyed, slightly murderous expression,

"He's going to run out of air," he said. Arthur shook his head,

"No. This trap is magic. It appeared out of nowhere. We can hear him, but he can't hear us. There must be some way that air is filtering through," he said, desperately trying, _needing_ to believe his own words.

Gwaine, looked at the box, and then back at Arthur. He narrowed his eyes, but reluctantly wrenched his hand from Arthur's grip and put it down. He kept the other rested on the box, though.

While this had been happening, the rest of the knights came trotting forward. Elyan just stood slack jawed, while Leon came forward, looking equally perplexed but curious as he ran his hand down one of the edges. Percival stood a couple yards away, running his eyes up and down the formation with a discerning gaze. One hand rested on his sword, as if he were waiting for the box to make its first move.

They all stood quietly for moment, trying to gather their wits and gauge the situation, wrapping their minds around the fact that their friends was trapped inside some kind of magical pillar with no way of hearing them. The only sound was that of the forest around them.

"Okay," Arthur said, finally, slowly, "we should try…"

He was interrupted, though, and everyone jumped in surprise as the pillar vibrated from being hit on the inside, and a frustrated yell. There was a pause, and then it shook again,

"_Where am I?!_" Merlin's voice, loud and angry, authoritative and more than slightly tinged with desperation, "_Who are you? Why are you doing this?_" a pregnant pause, "_Let me out!_"

Arthur cursed and ran a hand down his face, and Gwaine took it upon himself to hit the box again.

This was _not_ going to be easy.

...

A/N: Sooo, is this what you expected? This idea popped into my head one night when I was probably a little bit delirious from my tiredness. XD This story is going to have a lot of dialogue, which I think will be good for me since I don't do a lot of dialogue and it's not my strongest suit. Anyways, please leave a review to let me know what you think so far. I thought this would be an interesting story. Namely, because I find the thought of being trapped in an enclosed space in the dark, where I can't hear anything from the outside world, absolutely terrifying. What's going to happen to Merlin? Hence, the angst bit. Also, what will happen to his friends, who are forced to hear his distress? And what are they going to try to do to get him out? You may have also noticed that I put this in the "humor" genre, as well. I have so many things planned. If you were alone in the dark, what would you say to fill the silence?

Well, here's hoping you guys enjoy my story! **Reviews! :D**


	3. Severed

Merlin's back hurt. Come to think of it, so did his knees, his thighs, his neck. To be honest, everything ached, especially behind his eyes. His throat hurt too. He'd managed to shout himself hoarse, after what must have been a few hours or so. Merlin had only stopped calling when his eyes started to water. Though, it really was impossible to tell how long he had been at it. His senses were useless in the perpetual black he stood in. And there was no sun to work as a guide. He was starting to feel thirsty.

However, the terrible mental battle he found himself stuck in the middle of took precedence over the many physical discomforts starting to appear and intensify with each minute. It was all he could do to keep himself from hyperventilating and, possibly, causing himself to black out. He focused on breathing in and out of his nose, slowly, clenching and unclenching his fists and digging his fingernails into his palms. The pain reminded him that he wasn't dead. He couldn't be.

Right?

Well, the bitter part of him thought, it didn't really matter if he was dead yet, anyways, considering that he probably only had three days at best before he died of thirst.

Leaning his head back against the wall, Merlin let his arms flop down to his sides, and tried very hard to think about anything other than his predicament. The fact that he didn't even know if his friends were alright, if this were some accident or an actual plot against him, if the reason he hadn't suffocated to death yet was because whoever had made this cage had decided it would be funnier if its victims went completely insane before they died off.

Or, something like that.

He'd tried at least a dozen more times to find some way out of the box. But the walls were impenetrable. No matter how much he groped and stretched and pried, there was absolutely no flaw in its structure that he could find. It was a constant struggle to keep his emotions in check, and not let things like frustration or fear completely overtake his common sense. He kept telling himself that someone would find him, that someone would eventually show their face. He kept his eyes wide open, for the most part, deathly afraid of missing something important that might lead to his escape. He waited for a spark of light, the last fading echoes of a voice, something.

Nothing came, though.

In the end, it wasn't the fear that got him talking. Nor, was it do to some kind of madness in his head, or born entirely from a desire to fill awkward silences.

It was a desperate bid to alleviate some of the sheer _boredom_ of his situation. After all, a conversation with oneself is better than no conversation at all.

Right?

…

Gwen bit back an unladylike stream of abuses as she tripped and almost went sprawling into the dirt, twisting her ankle painfully in the process.

"Oh!" she tried, instead, and tried to mask her irritation as Gaius turned around from his place walking in front of her, and said,

"Are you alright?"

Gwen pursed her lips in a tight smile and nodded, deciding not to mention to the physician that even if she was hurt, there was no way she was going to slow down She was not one to be held back by minor misfortune. Gwen had proved this the day before, when she had insisted on going with Arthur for this patrol. Since becoming queen, she had been working hard during much of her free time to hone her skills with the sword, in train in various forms of combat. Arthur and Merlin, and Leon, who had been the one to train her, were the only ones to know. Being able to defend yourself and your kingdom was usually frowned upon by ladies and gentlemen of the court when it was a woman doing so. And though Gwen would have much preferred to carry on proudly with her endeavors, she realized the wisdom in diplomacy, as well as secrecy. Also, it wouldn't do any harm for their enemies to underestimate her, until such a day where they might know the extent of her abilities, furthering the power of Camelot and displaying Gwen's resolve to protect her kingdom.

Arthur, himself, was not loath to the prejudices that any man might have. But Gwen knew that his desire to protect and shelter her was born from love, not some sense of masculine superiority. Though, he wasn't devoid of this. Still, Gwen, with no small amount of feminine charm and her own, person wiles, managed to persuade him to let her go. As well, she said that it might be good for her to come along in order to assist Gaius, who was also accompanying the patrol this time, because he was of the mind that he might be able to figure out why the bandits were unable to be found. That, and she let him know in a matter of fact manner that she was following, whether or not it was with his patrol or far behind. She was tired of waiting with a ball of yarn in her lap for the _men_ to fix things, and then come home. Whenever they returned, she was so tightly coiled in nerves and worry that she could scarcely recognize herself from her frazzled appearance.

Unfortunately, it seemed that coming along had done nothing to save her from a life of concern and fear for her friends.

Her mind was filled with worry for them and her husband as they resumed walking back to where the battle had taken place. She didn't remember much of how it had started, only that Arthur had yelled for her and Gaius to run even as he dashed straight into the fray. And, mistakenly, she had done as he said.

Now she wished she hadn't. Arthur seemed hell bent on trying to turn her gray before her time, and she could only try and assuage her fears with the usual hollow reassurances that Arthur could take care of himself, that he was a perfectly capable fighter and a level head. And, of course, she knew all these things.

This didn't stop her from worrying though. She was a wife and a friend, and there was no way in hell that she was naive enough to believe that anyone she cared about was invincible. There would always be a part of her that worried, no matter what she or anyone else tried to convince her of.

She and Gaius were now heading back, too slowly for Gwen's taste. But Gaius was an old man, and Gwen a woman, and it seemed that both were trying to accommodate the other, and their pace was set back some from what it should have been.

Her mind whirled and her stomach churned for what must have been only ten more minutes of trekking, but what felt like several eternities, before they finally reached the spot where the bandits had attacked.

Gwen wanted to look away from the bodies strewn on the forest floor, but instead was desperately scanning them for anyone familiar. She saw none of her companions, and breathed a heavy sigh of relief. She saw Gaius' shoulders slump in relaxation, as well. They picked their way forward into the clearing, and just as Gwen was beginning to let herself believe that everything was alright, and opened her mouth to call for her companions, it happened.

The bodies of the bandits, whether unconscious or dead, disappeared. They imploded into swirling clouds of mist that vaguely resembled their previous, human outline before dispersing into the grass, and then fading out of existence.

Gwen's breath caught in her throat, and though surprise rendered her speechless, her mind whirled with realization.

Well, that explains the fact that none of the patrols Arthur had sent out found anything.

She stepped farther into the clearing, peering around tentatively, and losing her ability to breath for a second time as she received another shock.

Her eyes remained glued upon the object of her attention even as she was aware her friends surrounded it. She did not move her gaze when she was swept up in Arthur's embrace, nor was her stride towards it broken. She lay her hand upon the cool, black surface of the pillar, and felt Arthur's trepidation through his hand on her shoulder,

"Arthur," she said quietly, her voice precariously calm, "Where's Merlin?

….

Arthur was starting to get mad.

"This is ridiculous Gwaine," he yelled upwards, hands on his hips as he peered into the tree, where Gwaine was perched on one of the lower branches.

They had been at it for hours. The sun was at its brightest point, painting the sky a deep crimson and bathing the earth and trees in its soft glow. Dappled bits of light penetrated the forest canopy and created a complex pattern across the black pillar that still stood proudly, smugly, completely unaffected by the dozens upon dozens of efforts to open it. They'd tried anything from swinging swords to verbal demands, but nothing happened.

Their continuous failure wouldn't have been so bad, if Merlin hadn't been constantly reminding them, throughout, of his current predicament.

Arthur had always known Merlin was stubborn. But he was only now made aware as to the extent of how _much_ after a couple hours of hearing his constant protests, screams, curses, and fearful cries. The frustrated gasps, the cracks in his voice, the…colorful vocabulary that Arthur would never have guessed his manservant to be conscious of, had all been enough to drive him to a near breaking point.

And then, Gwen had shown up. He winced, remembering her fearful, disbelieving face when Arthur explained what was going on, and how upset she had become when Merlin started pounding from inside the box once again, demanding answers, shouting abuse, crying for help, creating an endless, agonizing background as they worked to free him. He'd called Arthur's name very many times, each time more desperate and angry than the last. The strange and torturous thing was, Merlin sounded _concerned_ when he said it, like he was afraid for Arthur's well being, even as he sat inside an enormously tight, silent space.

It made Arthur mad. Because his manservant was trapped and alone, and Arthur was helpless and unable to free him, and he had the nerve to _still_ be selfless, which only served to heighten Arthur's guilt, and intensify everyone's worry and alarm.

Merlin had quieted down about an hour or so ago, a little bit after Gwen and Gaius had arrived, though every several minute or so, his breathing would become more labored and ragged, loud enough for Arthur to hear, as if he were in a constant battle to maintain his calm, and he had lost the upper hand for a few moments. It hurt to hear, making Arthur wonder what on earth was giving Merlin the strength not to completely panic. Arthur knew he didn't like tight spaces, he had told him that once, and Arthur couldn't imagine what he must be going through. It was admirable, how well he seemed to be handling it. Yes, he had been screaming for help for the past couple hours, but it had all been angry and purposeful and fearful, but not panicked.

Gaius had seemed to take in the situation calmly, though Arthur could see the concern in his tightened eyes and tensed shoulders. He had retreated to their horses, the ones Elyan had managed to find after they wandered off a bit during the battle. He was currently searching avidly through his books, which he had packed in his horse's saddlebags to aid in finding the bandits.

Arthur remembered how they had evaporated into fine tendrils of mist, and felt even more angry. His manservant was suffering over a couple of criminals that hadn't even really _existed_ in the first place.

He hated the Valley of the Fallen Kings. He really, really did.

Elyan had started a fire, to ward off the chill of the approaching night. And though Arthur would like to tell himself that they would have Merlin free before the day was completely over, he knew that it was irresponsible to rule in denial of the negative possibilities, and had to consider that they might have to camp for the night. So, he had let Elyan make a fire, and that was where a stricken looking Gwen and a reading Gaius currently sat. Gwen had her knees drawn up to her chest, and was staring into the flames, occasionally glancing over at the box as if it might have magically transformed into her friend while she wasn't looking.

Arthur felt even more of a failure as he saw his wife in so much distress, and his knights beginning to lose their stamina. Elyan and Percival stood next to him under the tree, looking haggard and drawn. Leon must have looked the same, but Arthur had sent him to go find some water and there was no way he could tell. Gwaine seemed to be the only one who wasn't losing his energy, or any of his resolve. He only grew more frantic, and somewhat crazed. He'd been the only one to answer back to Merlin, telling him that everything would be alright and that his best mate Gwaine would fix everything, even though he knew that Merlin couldn't hear him.

He currently was under the impression that if he jumped on top of the box, something positive would come out of it.

"Gwaine!" Arthur tried again when no answer was forthcoming from his most thick headed knight, "You're only going to hurt yourself. I order you to come down!"

Gwaine glared down at him,

"Why would I do that? We should try everything we can to get him out," he said. Arthur resisted the urge to roll his eyes, knowing that would not endear Gwaine to his case,

"Look, I know that. We're going to get him out Gwaine. But we need your help, and breaking your leg is not going to help us get any closer to freeing Merlin. Just come down," Gwaine furrowed his brow, but looked unconvinced, "Besides," Arthur continued, "Even if jumping on the box somehow broke it open, you'd probably only end up hurting him in the process,"

This seemed to get through to Gwaine. He sighed and ducked his head, and then began climbing down, grumbling and complaining all the while.

Arthur pinched the bridge of his nose and breathed out slowly, trying to block out all the guilt and fear and anger for just a few moments.

"Sire?"

Arthur sighed and looked up, turning around to see Gaius approaching him. He was decidedly pale, eyes haunted with something that Arthur couldn't quite decipher but looked something like terror. His weathered hands were clutched around an equally worn down book.

"Gaius. Have you found anything?" Arthur asked. Gaius nodded, though he didn't seem happy with whatever it was he had found,

"I have," he took a deep breath, as if to still himself, "Merlin, I'm afraid, has stumbled into a very ancient magical contraption, the name of which has been lost in the long time it has been in existence. Most refer to it, simply, as the Sever,"

Arthur swallowed. That name did not inspire confidence.

"The Sever, itself, was designed to trap a person inside its walls. Its original form is little more than a smaller, flatter version of what it is now. Small enough to fit inside a man's pocket. Most likely, one of these phantom bandits had it on his person, and it fell out during the battle,"

"But, how did Merlin activate it?" Arthur asked, shaking his head in confusion as dread began to manifest in his stomach. Gaius nodded in approval at the question, though he still looked as if he had swallowed something to make him sick,

"The device is activated by a large amount of pressure on a certain side. Merlin must have stepped on it at some point during the battle,"

Arthur blinked, remembering how Merlin had taken one step towards him, eyes filled with fear at something only he could see, and then…

"So, what does it do to him while he's in there," Gaius looked at the book in his hands, and touched the binding with a frown,

"It will magically sustain his air supply, so have no fear of that," Arthur nodded. He had stopped worrying about that when Merlin hadn't died after an hour of continuous yelling,

"It shuts out anything from the outside world. Hence the name, 'sever'. It cuts off all sounds, all light, creating a darkness and silence that cannot be found in the natural world," the dread in Arthur's gut multiplied a thousand times over, but Gaius didn't stop there, "The purpose of the sever is a slow, torturous death. It is a very rare thing to find, nowadays, except in the hands of the very wealthy, and extremely dangerous. Merlin will last for as long as he can without water, and perhaps a bit longer, depending on how ancient this sever is. The first ones made were far more sadistic, made to prolong the lives of its victims by providing nourishment in the form of magic, instead of substance. If it was one of the last ones made, at least a hundred years ago, then it will do no such thing," Gaius had even seemed to go paler, his voice choking slightly at certain points.

Arthur was sure he must look the same, as he fought to keep his mind disconnected from the despair and terror lurking beneath his conscious,

"How do we get him out?" he asked slowly, deliberately. Gaius' face seemed to steel with resolve,

"There is a solution. But it will take at least three days to prepare,"

Arthur nodded, his hands clenching into white fists at his sides,

"Let's get started then,"

...

A/N: Not much happened this chapter, I know. And next one's where the real angst and humor starts. X) But I needed to make the set up for the story before I start Merlin's actual talking. Tell me what you thought!


	4. Keep Calm

A/N: Hey guys! So, **WARNING: **there are times in this story where it may seem to get a bit ridiculous, and I know it's unrealistic. However, I wanted to do this for fun, so I hope you'll just except the OOC side of things. Have fun reading!

PS: I know this chapter's a lot shorter than the others. But, considering it's going to be Merlin's dialogue, they might get kind of shorter. Anyways, read on!

...

Arthur prodded the fire with a dry, knobby stick, but didn't bother to watch the storm of sparks it created above his head. The flickering glow of the flames illuminated a small circle around their group in the dark, and cast long, looming shadows of their silhouettes onto the ground. They sat around the fire, sprawled on the ground or on their haunches, a stagnant silence heavy in the air between them. Gaius and Gwen were next to each other, Gwen with her knees drawn up to her chest, staring determinedly into the flames as if it might hold answers, and Gaius with a far away look in his haggard features, barely concealing the deep amounts of concern beneath. Gwaine was restless, constantly shifting and readjusting his position on his bedroll, glaring at anything he could and sometimes studying his hands in an attempt to calm himself. His worry was much more obvious than Gaius', subtlety not being extremely prominent in his personality, to understate.

Leon and Elyan played a silent, aimless game of cards, having nothing better to occupy themselves with, while Percival sat stoically, swirling his spoon through what remained of his untouched dinner.

Arthur hadn't been able to eat either.

He shifted his attention over to the handle of his sword. Excalibur was buried underneath the fire, by the coals where the heat was greatest. He waited, eyeing the glinting edge of the metal as if it would somehow speed up the process. But it would take three days. Three days before the weapon would penetrate Merlin's prison.

Gaius had assured Arthur that what they were doing wasn't magic. Arthur had somehow lost faith in this declaration after the physician had spent several hours throwing herbs and concoctions into the fire whilst chanting some strange language. But Gaius had been firm, it was not magic, but a means of "countering" magic. A defense.

While Arthur was still suspicious of this flimsy explanation, he found that he could not, would not, do anything to hinder it. Magic or not, Gaius said this would get Merlin out.

And Arthur had promised he would.

The sever still stood tauntingly a few yards away, visible as a ghostly spectrum in the night, a vague, black outline against the backdrop of the forest foliage. The eerie light of the moon and stars filtered through the treetops and created a complex pattern across its flawless, luminescent surface, so black it put the night sky to shame. Arthur glared at the horrible contraption with hatred. He hated to imagine what kind of person it would take to create such a thing.

He hated to imagine what would happen if he encountered such a person.

Underneath, he was racked with agitation. Nothing had been heard from Merlin for at least two hours, not even the ragged, rapid breathing. Arthur supposed he must have fallen asleep awhile ago. But it was impossible to ignore that nagging, underlying feeling of fear that it was something much, much worse. This must have partly been the reason for the tense silence permeating the air. They all waited, holding their breath.

So it was, when Merlin finally did talk, it came as no surprise that everyone seemed to jump slightly, immediately alert as all eyes turned to the sever.

"_Okay, okay, just calm down, breathe slowly. Just breathe…breathe. They're coming. They're coming…"_

Arthur felt his throat close up. He didn't move a muscle, and several more moments passed, before Merlin talked again.

"_But, what if they're not…? I might be dead. That's it, isn't it? I'm dead, and this is Hell. Bloody hell, I'm in Hell, how is that fair?!_"

Arthur was taken aback by the bitterness in Merlin's voice.

"_Well, can't say that it comes a surprise. This is just my luck, isn't it? On top of the torture that is my reality, my soul's been condemned to suffer. And it's not enough that I'm among the eternally damned, is it? Oh, no! I'm also _talking _to myself, like a damned crazy person! Great, just great! Well, thank you kindly, powers that be! I thought I'd at least get some rest in the afterlife, but no, fate's decided, once again, to see how much I can take. Ha!"_

There was a prolonged, stunned silence, everyone around the campfire sat with mouths agape and eyes wide with shock. Arthur wasn't able to sort through the questions in his head beneath the astonishment at Merlin's outburst, and the content within.

"_Alright, just calm down, calm down, you're not dead. You're going to lose your mind like this. Just relax, Arthur's coming, someone's coming. First step, stop talking to yourself,"_

"_And…now,_"

"_Just, stop_"

"_Now,_"

...

A/N: So, tell me what you thought! Good, bad, funny? I might rewrite this chapter, as it didn't turn out exactly the way I wanted it to. But, hopefully, you guys still liked it. Once again, this is a somewhat quirky story, a lot different than many other Merlin stories, and especially different from my others. But, I am doing this for me. So, though it is odd, I hope you will still read and enjoy! And, this one was mostly humor and set up (which there is a lot of), so more **angst** will come later. :) Have a nice night!


	5. Hungry

A/N: Hi Everyone! Next chapter!

...

Merlin didn't talk for another hour or so, but no one was asleep, not yet, at least. Arthur stared into the fire, refusing to think about failure, refusing to let dread creep into his carefully controlled emotions.

…

"Okay…I give up. I need to talk. No one's here, but I'm gonna talk anyway. I mean, what's wrong with it, really? It's like reading a book out loud to yourself, right? Why am I asking questions as if someone will answer?"

Merlin sighed exasperatedly, banging his forehead against the cool stone. He felt like an idiot. But the darkness was pressing in on him. The silence was so heavy, so suffocating. Magic was of no help. He'd tried a few more basic spells under his breaths, to conjure water or food, but nothing worked. It was as if he didn't have magic at all. He couldn't call Kilgarrah, for that part of him had receded somewhere deep inside where he had no access to it.

Hearing his own voice was better than nothing. His joints protested, burning against the discomfort. His head hurt, his stomach growled with hunger. His breaths were shaky and erratic, and he couldn't seem to even them out. He had air, but the fear was growing stronger, the panic at the prospect of never being found, of possibly dying here in the dark, by himself, never knowing if anyone would ever know.

Or, was he already dead?

He panted quietly for a moment, trying to slow down his breathing and racing heart,

"You know, this isn't really what I imagined Hell to be like…"

….

"_I mean, I'm not one to indulge in stereotypes. Lord knows I'm not. So I wonder why I'm here…? Wait, no, no it's not Hell, it can't be. It would be…hotter, wouldn't it? And I can't feel anything in here. It's just…nothing. If this were Hell, there'd be fire and brimstone and little…imps. Yeah, I should be choking on sulfur. But there's air. How is there air? That doesn't make any…well, why should I complain? If I've got air, it's a good thing, isn't it? I have nothing to complain about,"_

Low and breathless laughter emanated from the sever, and Merlin's voice resounded

Merlin was silent for a few moments, and during that time Gwen stood up slowly from her place opposite Arthur, and crossed over to him. She sat down by his side, wrapped an arm about her shoulders. She snuggled closer, and he kissed her head as she rested it against his chest. He liked her warmth against him, it kept him anchored and calm.

Low and breathless laughter emanated from the sever, and Merlin's voice resounded from within once again, slightly strange and echoing,

"_Right, I have no reason to complain. I'm only trapped inside some miniscule box, where I can't see or hear anything. I can't even stretch or sit down. And I'm hungry. My friends might be dead. And I'm not even allowed to panic, because than my heart will give out on me, and wouldn't that be just spectacular! And I can't fall asleep, either, because then I know I'd miss something important. Ha! Wouldn't Kilgarrah love to see me now? 'Now you truly understand what it means to be in chains'. Well, thanks a lot, Aristotle!"_

Arthur couldn't help it. A bubble of warmth rose up from his chest into his throat, and croaked out as a mild chuckle. Percival, Gwaine, Leon, Elyan, and Gaius all looked at him with various measures of surprise and incredulity. But Arthur couldn't help it. Merlin just sounded too Merlin-like at that moment. His voice had taken on a whiny edge, the one that he often used for when Arthur insisted on extra chores, but more amplified.

But maybe he was the only one to notice. Behind Merlin's ramblings, which were somewhat frantic and scared, there was a determination. Merlin was fighting against the silence, to keep himself strong. It was just so characteristic that Arthur had to laugh. Nothing about the situation was particularly funny.

But still. Even in the face of one of the worst fates the world had to offer, Merlin was still being a stubborn wise ass. Leave it to Arthur's manservant to make sarcastic remarks to six walls of granite-like stone.

"_Huh…well, this is ironic, isn't it? The first time I have a few moments to myself in the past seven years and it's under these circumstances. You have a terrific sense of humor, Morgana. If you're the one responsible for this. Really, I wouldn't be surprised. But, you know what? I take that back. You never had a good sense of humor. It was all condescending smirks and bits of minor wit popping up here and there. But you made up for it, I suppose. In some ways. You used to know right from wrong, for one thing. And you were brave. But, you never were quite able to pull off intimidation. Even now, you're rather…underwhelming."_

Despite himself, Arthur was listening with rapt attention. He'd always known Merlin was brave, but to feel…disappointed with Morgana's villainy? That was...hard to grasp.

"_Oh, I might have just killed myself with that remark. But, I really don't think you're the one up to something this time, Morgana. This is different…somehow. Bloody hell, I'm exhausted. So tired,"_

__And after that, Merlin said nothing for the rest of the night. And, eventually, despite all their efforts to the contrary, sleep overtook them, and they slipped into slumber. And inside the sever, Merlin's own body slumped against the walls, his chin fell to his chest, which rose and fell steadily with the oblivion of unconsciousness.

_..._

A/N: Once again, Merlin is going to be a bit OOC in this story, so be prepared. I apologize for any prominent American sounding stuff in his speech, but it's kind of hard not to put that in there. And, I'll try and work on it. Anyways, hope you liked it! Please let me know! Sorry if things seem a bit fractured and slow. I'm still trying to get the hang of the rhythm of this story. The next chapters are going to be a lot more random funness and angst with Merlin's monologues, and there's going to be less description between the stuff he says. It will be majorly just dialogue, and labels to show the time passed between the things he says. Make sense?


	6. Bore

Day 1

Three in the morning: the night sky is pitch black, the clouds fading wisps. Smoke rises from the small fire, and no one is asleep.

Except for Merlin. Until…

"_Ugh…Gaius? I…Oh. Oh, right. Oh…hell. I'm still here." _hard and shaking breaths, _"Okay. Fine. If that's the way it's going to be. I can deal with it. I've been through worse. Come at me with whatever you like, I'm not giving up, nope. Just try."_

Three thirty in the morning: same

"_You know what, I bet it's cold out there. Hmm? Feeling chilly, with no walls to keep you warm? Well, sod you!"_

Four in the morning: still the same

"_Oh, man, my feet hurt. Arthur's right, I have kankles, silly, bony, useless things. But then again, what am I acting surprised for? I'm skinny all over. Always have been, from birth. The boys in Ealdor used to tease me, because of it. Wondered why my elbows didn't cut my mother on the way out. I called them fat, to make up for it. But it's hard to convince everyone that they're all fat and you're normal. They were right about my elbows, though."_

Five in the morning: dawn begins to peek over the horizon, and animals stir in their niches.

"_Oh, God, is that meat I'm smelling? I'm beginning to hallucinate, aren't I? Perfect. That's just perfect, Merlin. Of all the times to decide to go crazy…Why not when Gaius was infested by a goblin, and everyone though you were crazy? Why not then? That would have been a perfectly opportune time to lose my mind. Let Arthur do the work, for once!"_

Five thirty in the morning: the morning sun bathes the land in slanted, golden shades, wearing away at the chill of the night.

"_But, why should I care what people do or don't believe? I shouldn't. I never used consider what other people thought as important. You were right, mother. They're just jealous. That's what Arthur is. He may be muscular and royalty, but he can't compete with my cheekbones for beans…At least, that's what Gwen says. Is it getting cold in here?"_

Five forty-five in the morning: same

_"Do-do-do-do...dodododododooooooo...doooooooooo...dodo...dada...dadodadodado...dodatding..."_

Six in the morning: the air is starting to warm, a pot of stew simmers over the fireplace, where the hilt of Excalibur still protrudes from the embers.

_"I. Have. Never. Been. So. Bored. In. My. Entire. Life."_

Six ten in the morning: same.

_"Kill me now."_

Six thirty in the morning: still same.

_"I spy with my little eye...my eyelid. Congratulations!"_

TBC

...

A/N: These chapters are going to be very short for a while. :D Now would be an **excellent** time for PROMPTS! What would you guys like Merlin to talk about? Keep in mind, this isn't going to be a magic reveal. What do you want him to say? It can be totally random! Anyways, hope you liked it!


	7. Chapter 7

Day 2

Time was passing agonizingly slowly.

Arthur wasn't sure how he had gotten there, but he was pacing back and forth in front of the sever, his mind a jumble of anxiety.

"Why hasn't he said anything?" he asked for probably the fifth time in the last thirty minutes. As usual, there was no answer. Only worried looks directed the horrid contraption's way. Everyone was sprawled at different parts around the camp. Gwen had her cheek nestled in the mane of Arthur's horse, her large eyes betraying the concern she felt. The knights were dispersed about the area, leaning on trees and wandering back and forth from the fire, poking and picking, desperately trying to find some distraction from the silence that had become predominant over the last couple of hours.

Merlin hadn't spoken in this time. This had become unnerving, considering the young man had been incessantly monologueing for since that morning, on numerous topics ranging from the differences between hay and straw to the number of moles on his left arm.

What had at first been painful, hearing Merlin's stubborn, disturbing attempts at maintaining his sanity, had become a comfort. And now, it was gone.

Arthur wasn't taking it very well.

Gwaine was even worse. He circled the sever, occasionally tapping it, or pressing his ear against the surface, his face a mask of determination and anger. Arthur could see his intentions brimming just under the surface, and would occasionally flicker his gaze over to the man's sheathed sword, wondering if he should take it.

More silence passed, heavy as a fog in the air. Gwaine seemed just on the verge of stabbing something, and Arthur felt slightly inclined to join him, when it happened.

"…No. " Merlin's voice, quiet and holding the weight of immense dread. Everyone froze.

"No. No. No! No, this is NOT happening! NO!" Arthur felt panic seize his chest, and he ran forward to the sever, only to stumble backwards at Merlin's enraged cry, "ARGH! No, no, no, nononononono! I refuse, I absolutely refuse! No. I can't have to pee. I just can't. No!"

Arthur felt the fear drain down to his feet and then leak out into the dirt. He slumped and fell to his knees, and than back onto his haunches.

"Thank God," he said.

"Oh, God," Merlin whimpered.

Everyone was tensed, listening raptly with immense sympathy, horror, and yet, somehow, suppressed amusement.

"Great. This is just divine. I'm starving, I'm thirsty, I'm trapped, I can't see, I can't sit, and, oh, guess what, Merlin? Guess what else? Now you have to pee!"

The familiar sound of Merlin's boot connecting with the sever reverberated through the clearing,

"This isn't fair!" he yelled, and Arthur winced at the brutal pain in his voice, "If I'm dead, where are they? Where's Lancelot? Where's my father, hmm? Where's Balinor?!"

Merlin was roaring now, his voice tight with a righteous fury as he bellowed into what Arthur knew was absolute darkness. He felt his stomach tighten as if he had become ill.

"I don't get it!" Merlin screamed. A long pause followed, but was than filled with a small, quiet sniffle, followed by Merlin's voice, hesitant an broken, "Where's Freya?" he said, "Why can't I see Freya? Why won't you let me see her?" he fell into quiet sobs, which everyone listened to in dead silence for several endless, painful moments, "I want to see her. Let me see her."

He cried then.

And Gwen followed after.

Arthur walked over to her, and wrapped her in his arms. Offering the comfort of his presence to the one person he could.

But not the person who really needed it.

Gwen wept into his shoulder, and Arthur shushed her gently as he rubbed her back.

Merlin went quiet before she did.

When she finally settled down, Arthur slowly released her, and swiped his thumb across her cheek to wipe away a tear. She nodded at him with a reassuring, tremulous smile, and he returned the gesture. He hoped it didn't look as weak as it felt.

Still touching her arm, Arthur turned Gaius, who sat staring into the fire, eyes red and filled with pain.

"Who's Freya?"

...

A/N: DON'T WORRY! This is not the end of Merlin's monologues on Freya and Balinor, and such. There will be more Arthur, knight, Gaius, Gwen guilt later, too, so yeah. Also, I'll answer more of the prompts later, too. :D So have a nice day!


	8. Anguish

And why does Merlin want to see Balinor? Arthur added in the privacy of his own mind.

Gaius looked up at Arthur in obvious trepidation, mouth slightly open as if he were about to answer. But he didn't have a chance to.

Merlin snickered bitterly before speaking,

"_But why should I be surprised? It's never that easy, is it? Things are just never that easy, not for me. Cause if they were, Freya never would have died in the first place…I would have been able to save her. Balinor and Lancelot too…Will_."

Arthur frowned deeply. He hadn't noticed before, but Merlin's voice was now audibly hoarse with thirst. He silently willed his manservant to quit speaking, to reserve his strength.

Notwithstanding, of course, that he wouldn't have to hear the man's pain any longer.

"_But it's different with him. You know how...they say, when you lose an arm, you can still feel it? And that's what it's like to lose a person? Well, it's not true. For Will, maybe, but not for…_"

Arthur swallowed, and collapsed to a sitting position in front of a tree, gently pulling down Gwen with him. She drew her knees up to her chest, and buried her face in her arms. He rested one hand on her back, and his head against the bark, wishing for all the world that he could cover his ears without, somehow, dishonoring his friend. Everyone listened with rapt attention as Merlin continued, his voice laced with a kind of numbed grief,

"_Cause, I knew Will for a long time. He was like an arm, in that way…he was just, a part of me. But Freya wasn't. She wasn't an extension of myself…she was…what could have been my future. When she was gone, I didn't still feel her there. The fact that she was gone was everything. Her loss was everywhere, in whatever I did, in my chores, my work. I felt nothing more than the fact that she wasn't __**there**__. It was like she was the sun, showing me the horizon, showing me what could be, the good things that lay ahead. And then, she was just…gone._"

Arthur's eyes began to sting hotly, and he rubbed at them stubbornly, still straining to hear every word, even though they were like icy pokers in his chest, and caused roiling guilt in his gut. How had he never known about this? When had Merlin been experiencing such pain? Why had no one ever told him?

He glanced over at his companions, their faces echoing his own thoughts. Gaius didn't seem surprised, though. His face was weighed down with, simply…sorrow.

"_Balinor was even worse, though. I mean, he was my father_,"

Arthur's heart collided with his throat as his jaw hit the dirt,

"_He was just…starting to love me, I think. He looked at me like he was proud. And I couldn't save him, either. So much for my destiny, huh? But that's all I do all the time, isn't it? Fail at doing my job. And you know what? I've decided, fate picked the wrong person. I'm not cut out for this. Gaius says that I keep my head on my shoulders, but I don't. I…I really try, though. I smile, even if it's like squeezing moisture from sand. Everyone thinks I'm so cheery, and simple. I never noticed how easily people will accept a mask as long as it fits. Of course, I only ever take it off when no one's looking. _"

Arthur choked at the lump forming in his throat, and ran a hand through his hair, feeling sick at the odd mixture of bewilderment and sympathy swirling in stomach.

"_No one knows. Arthur, he thinks that I have no idea what it's like to experience responsibility. Gwen, she thinks I'm naive. Gwaine, sometimes, I think he can see that there's more to me. But, even he doesn't want, or maybe even realize, that taking the time to ask me might just be enough to find out. I don't think anyone knows how easy it would be. I say I'm good at keeping secrets…but it's a lie. I'm a terrible liar, but everyone always just believes me. Do you know how hard it is? To smile and give advice and act the idiot, while all the while, all it would take to break me down is someone to look me in the eye and ask, 'How are you, Merlin?' Does anyone realize how much it hurts to hold the grief of your friends in your heart, to take their abuse and their anger and anguish when you've never even had the chance to __**acknowledge**__ the deaths of your loved ones?_"

Gwen bit back a sob, and Arthur automatically drew her into his arms, still staring numbly into the trees, unable to gather his own thoughts amongst the turmoil of his emotions.

"_But no one ever notices. I guess it's too much, to expect that. Even as everything I do is tainted with this…need to hide, I still am just unbelieving, sometimes, at how little people see. It seems like I'm missing out on even, just, the basic essentials of friendship. No one has ever asked me about my life before Camelot. No one has ever asked me what my interests are, or my favorite foods. I've never been questioned about the dark circles under my eyes, or why they're sometimes oddly red. Gwen sometimes gives me looks, as if she suspects…and, despite my better judgment, I find myself urging her silently, 'Please, please, just ask'. But…she never does. No one does. And sometimes, I wonder if anyone even cares enough to."_

Gwen began to weep profusely in Arthur's arms, muttering what sounded like "I'm sorry" under her breath over and over. And Arthur found himself feeling angry.

Damn it, Merlin, why haven't you ever told anyone if it's been hurting so much? Why did you never just talk to me?

What's causing you so much pain in the first place?

"_But, I suppose, it's my fault. I'm the one who pushes them away in the first place. Everyone. Even Gaius. I like to think that I'm close to him, that he understands me better than anyone. But it's just another lie. Another lie, like all the others I tell myself and everyone else. Gaius tries so hard to empathize, but I can't even let him in. It's because…because I'm afraid. I've grown so used to letting people dismiss me, that I'm afraid of what they'd find if they didn't. What they'd reject if they didn't. I've shut him out, too. I use that fake smile on him, as well. I tell him that I'm okay, that I'm handling it, even if it isn't true. Even if all I want to do is bury myself in his arms, and remind the world that I'm hardly past eighteen, and to tell destiny, 'let someone older take care of it.'"._

Silence permeated the air for several seconds, except for Merlin's breathing, which was harsh and sluggish,

"_But sometimes, despite all my common sense and so-called strength, I can't help but feel that It's my destiny to be the loneliest person in the world._"

To Be Continued…

...

A/N: Sorry about the abrupt ending, guys, but I wrote all of this in one sitting, and didn't really know quite how to end it. :/ Merlin's monologue will continue in the next chapter, which, hopefully, will be up very soon. :)


	9. Chapter 9

Merlin had never wanted to sit down so bad in his life.

Every muscle in his body ached. His neck burned, his knees felt like jelly. But he couldn't sit, that luxury was not within his reach. The box was too small. All he could do was rest his haunches against the back wall and his forehead against the front. He'd tried to find a more comfortable position, but so far, this was the one that spared him the most agony.

Not that it did much to help.

He had long since given up on the idea that this was truly some kind of cruel purgatory. After all, how could he be dying if he was already dead? And he knew he was. Dying, that is.

Everything in him and of him felt immensely weak. His throat burned with a thirst so fierce he was surprised he could talk at all. His tongue was a virtual maze of dry, craggy lines and crevices. His whole body felt numb and wobbly, and he would occasionally find himself shaking from fatigue and undernourishment. His stomach was a hollow, shrunken void, which had long ago stopped growling and was now just filling him with a terrible pain. He hadn't known before this that hunger could actually _hurt_.

Well, starvation was more like it.

He had at first exercised self-control when it came to his daydreams. He knew that imagining food and drink would only make his suffering all the more potent. But now, as his mind became more and more fuzzy, his disciplined thoughts more and more faint, he found himself often picturing enormous feasts and banquets with all manner and assortment of delicious courses and irresistible sauces. But mostly, he thought of water. He thought of how it would feel, blessedly cool and moist running down his throat and into his empty belly. Though, he could no longer be sure that he remembered correctly what it felt like to quench thirst.

God, how long had he been in here? It felt like years, perhaps it had been. Perhaps, it had been a whole eternity, and he was already insane, with no sense of time to guide him. He marveled silently at how easy it was to forget the existence of time when there's nothing there to remind you of it.

As more time passed, his thoughts were becoming more muddled and distant, any coherent ones that was. He'd find himself gently slipping into long periods of non-lucidity, almost a wakeful unconsciousness, where he'd lose all track of sensibility, then suddenly panic and "reawaken" in a way.

He didn't know how much longer he could last. He wondered if to his friends, he was already dead. Did they think he was captured? Or, had they long ago given up hope of finding him alive? Merlin, in his rather negative state of mind, was inclined to believe the latter.

And the more time passed, the more he found himself talking. At first it had been to fill the silence of his surroundings, but now it was to fill the void of his heart. If he was going to die, he might as well say the things he wanted to say, right? Maybe, somehow, the earth would carry his words to his friend's. Either way, he will have left nothing unsaid. But he would not utter the secret which had defined his life for the past ten years. That would always remain unsaid. Because if he couldn't say that to their faces, he didn't want to say it at all. It was too sacred to say into the darkness, too attached to his being to release, without the eyes of his king to look into.

He'd run on for quite awhile before, scarcely keeping track of his own words and simply letting them fall forth as manifestations of what he was feeling. He knew he'd talked about Freya, and Balinor, and several other emotions that had felt so cathartic and cleansing to release that, afterward, he'd felt immensely weak. He must have passed out after that, because when he regained awareness he had no concept of how long it had been since his monologue.

But then he opened his mouth, the words once again pouring through.

…..

**5 hours earlier**:

Gwaine sank to his knees by the fire, telling himself that it wasn't because he couldn't hold them up any longer. Merlin's words, those terrible, terrible truths that had come from his lips with such honesty resounded through his head, a despairing echo of keening sorrow.******

He rested his forehead between his knees, and folded his fingers into his hair, gripping the locks so tightly, the hairs strained against his scalp. His knuckles throbbed, glistering with blood and torn skin from where he had slammed his fists against the tree which had happened to be nearest him during Merlin's tirade. He gritted his teeth, and his breath passed in and out through the tight, rigid jaws.

"Oh, God, Merlin," he muttered, shaking his head in disbelief, eyes wide into the darkness of the forest floor, where the cloak of night was beginning to penetrate the smaller crevices of the forest. Guilt roiled in his gut like a horrible mixture of a dozen other emotions vying for his attention, rage and disbelief amongst them. The things that Merlin had said…How could he have been carrying that much pain? Surely, there would have been signs. Gwaine couldn't help but think that if he had just been _looking_, if he had truly _seen_ his friend, none of these insecurities Merlin had been carrying would be a mystery to him.

"He…"

Gwaine looked up at the voice, and tensed at the sight that greeted him.

Arthur stood in a straight, tense line, his hands balled into fists at his sides. Gwaine mused that he could see them shaking if he squinted hard enough. The strands of his hair shadowed what little could be seen of his face, though Gwaine could sense the fiery intensity of his gaze burning through his eyes towards Gaius.

The old physician stared up at him calmly, though slightly strained, as if waiting for a blow. But Arthur's voice was quiet when he spoke,

"He said Balinor was his…" Arthur's voice cracked, and Gwaine had to keep his mouth from falling open, "…his _father_."

Silence again.

Gaius looked incredibly weary. He ran a worn hand down his face, then sighed. He resignedly nodded in affirmative,

"Yes…it's true. Balinor was Merlin's father."

Arthur didn't react at first, but Gwaine saw his fists become inexorably tighter, veins bulging from the paled skin,

"Why didn't you tell me?" he asked, voice barely controlled. Gaius had the nuance to look sympathetic, though not remorseful,

"It was not my place to tell," he said simply, no defensiveness, no regret.

Arthur seemed to have nothing to say to that. He clenched and unclenched his hands, mouth flapping open and closed. His neck was taut with the strain of his barely suppressed anger. After a few moments of struggling, he spun around, and with hunched shoulders and a rigid frame, stalked off into the trees.

Gwen seemed to snap out of her haze at his departure, and stood to follow her husband into the darkening wood.

Gwaine looked away, and found his gaze settling on the protruding hilt of Arthur's sword in the fire, what little could be seen of the blade glowing red. From his reckoning, they had just a little more than a day left before it would be ready. He glanced over at the glistering, black rectangle standing arrogantly in the light of the setting sun, like a sentinel of darkness, and vowed to himself that it would be enough time.

It had to be.

...

A/N: I know, I know. Pathetic excuse for an update, and I apologize. But you guys have waited long enough, and I thought you deserved something, even if it is rather pitifully short. But I am hoping to have more of this up extremely soon. I have the rest of the story semi-planned out, even though the inspiration has gone, and will most likely be posting little chapters like this, only with smaller waits inbetween. :) Thank you all for your patience, and even more so for your wonderful support and reviews. :D

**** Thanks, BlueMoonMaples, for the link you sent me. :D I really enjoyed the song and listen to it often, now.**

**Also**, a guest reviewer asked me why Merlin doesn't call the dragon. :) I hope I'm right to assume you meant call, though it was written "kill" on your review. :] First of all, thank you! I really appreciated the review. :D Also, I explained in an earlier chapter how Merlin's magic wasn't working, and how he could feel inside of him that his connection to Kilgarrah was cut off. But it was a good question!


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